


Northwest Mansion Nouveau

by azhdarchidaen



Series: Relativity Falls Stories [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Relativity Falls, Episode: s02e10 Northwest Mansion Mystery, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 00:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7384522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azhdarchidaen/pseuds/azhdarchidaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is causing trouble at the Northwests' Annual Now-Open-to-the-Public Gala, and while Ford investigates the cause with the party's hostess, certain other realizations are had.</p><p>On a similar level of disaster, Stanley attempts flirting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Northwest Mansion Nouveau

“Why did you want to go to this party again?” Ford hissed under his breath as they shuffled inside, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Somehow he’d been coaxed into “at least wearing a tie” for the event by his brother and Great-Aunt Mabel -- and was already regretting it.

“‘Cause it sounded like a jackpot,” Stanley giggled back. Unlike his brother, he seemed to have taken to wearing an entire suit like it came naturally to him. Really weirdly naturally. “Bigger question is why _you_ tagged along, Poindexter.”

“I’m not here for the party,” Ford said defensively, “It was just an invitation inside. From what I understand Mrs. Northwest has a decent-sized collection of artifacts that--”

“--Well if it isn’t the circus on our doorstep,” intoned a lazy voice from nearby, and both twins’ heads shot to the sides to see Preston a few feet from the doorway, his typical haughty grin looking a bit strained, but present as usual. “I knew mother was responsible for letting the riff-raff into our gala, but I assumed even she still had _standards_ …”

“Whaddaya mean by ‘circus’?” Stan said defensively, frowning at the other boy.

Preston jabbed a finger into his chest. “Well you’ve got the strongman here, all dumb muscle,” he said, then started to point at Ford, “not to mention the freaksho--”

“--only circus performer I see here is the clown in front of me,” Stanley said through gritted teeth and shoving Preston away from him. “You greet all your guests like this?”

Ford had shoved his hands in his pockets already, but slowly pulled one out to put it on his brother’s shoulder and pull him back. “‘S’okay Stanley,” he said. “Don’t get in trouble before you even start the night.”

Preston smirked at them both, the unspoken words “my house, my rules” hanging somewhere in the air, but fortunately they were quickly broken by an excited yell from across the hall.

“Stanley!”

Waving excitedly and overshadowed by a massive cider fountain, Ford could just make out Susan trying to get his brother’s attention. Both twins seemed to take it as the perfect excuse to escape.

“Catch ya later, Jerkface,” Stanley said, already headed in her direction. He grabbed Ford by the arm (like he hadn’t wanted to get out of there more than anyone...) to bring him with him.

“Hopefully not,” Preston sniffed. “And _do_ try buttoning one of the clasps on your suit, you look… uncouth.”

He didn’t say anything about the fact that Ford was still in his aviator’s jacket and sneakers. But the insinuation hung there enough to make Ford realize that somehow, yet again, he’d managed to stand out.

One of the things he was best at.

“Stanley!” Susan repeated as the two of them drew close. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to the Northwests’ party! Oh, and hi, Ford.”

“Aha, well,” he said a little nervously. “It was kind of a last-minute decision.”

“I see,” she said, looking at Ford’s jacket as if that statement explained something. He felt his face flush and decided, now that Stanley had found one of his friends here (Susan was his friend, right?) it was time to go.

“I’mgoingtogofindthelibrarynicetoseeyouSusan,” he breathed quickly and started shuffling away.

“What, already bro?” Stanley said, sounding disappointed. “You’re not even gonna stick with me to get food?”

“Maybe later,” Ford said equally quickly. The room suddenly felt very loud and crowded.

“Okay, well come find me if you do!”

“...I will.”

Ford didn’t have the heart to tell him that he probably wasn’t going to.

 

* * *

 

The night started to improve from there, as it didn’t take Ford too long to find what he’d _really_ come for. Sure enough, when he retreated to one of the quieter parts of the house, where there weren’t any other guests to feel weird about, he gathered his wits enough to track down what seemed to be a study of sorts. And inside, he wasn’t disappointed. When people in town had mentioned that Mrs. Northwest had a vested interest in the paranormal, they weren’t kidding.

Not that everything in the fancy display cases there was supernatural in origin. There were plenty of normal aristocratic decor choices, which could also have been interesting (was that an 18th century map on the wall? He could definitely try to date it…) -- if the others weren’t so much more alluring. Strange amulets, paintings that Ford felt were watching him… this room was incredible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed deeply at one of the lockets on display, which was emitting a soft blue glow.

“So you can see it too?” came a voice from behind, and he just about jumped out of his shoes. Sure, he didn’t _think_ this place was technically off-limits, but there was always the chance…

“It’s alright,” the voice, distinctly female, said again, and a woman in a floor-length green dress holding up a candlestick emerged from the shadows.

 _Mrs. Northwest,_  he realized with another nervous feeling, it only just occurring to him that his slinking around in a part of the house with valuable artifacts could be… misinterpreted.

But she didn’t seem to be taking it that way. “I was actually just heading in here to have another look at it.”

“So it doesn’t normally do that?” Ford asked.

“No, I’ve never seen it act this way,” Mrs. Northwest said. “And I don’t like it.”

“What do you know about it?” he asked, already grabbing the pencil tucked behind his ear and clicking the lead into place as he turned to look back at the display case with the glowing amulet in it.

“Not much,” she said. “Only the legends that accompanied it when I bought the thing on auction. It was salvaged from a ghost ship floating in the Antarctic -- ‘ghost’ like the completely abandoned kind, with the crew missing. Not… you know.”

“They _could_ be the same thing…” Ford said, sticking out his tongue as he wrote “ _Antarctic ghost ship (very Coleridge…)_ ” in his notebook. “It all depends on what happened to the crew.”

As soon as he’d said it, he felt like biting his lip. Even if she liked collecting things with creepy stories to them, that didn’t mean Mrs. Northwest was one of the adults who would take his theories seriously -- he was probably about to get laughed at again, wasn’t he?

But instead she smiled at him. “That’s why I bought it.”

“Really?” he said excitedly. “You think the amulet is supernatural in origin?”

“Anything’s possible,” she said. “I just had a funny feeling about this one.”

Ford looked up at her, still feeling a little bit of a thrill at finding someone who was taking him seriously. “So are _you_ an aspiring paranormal investigator as well?”

Now she laughed. “I’ve just had an interest in ghosts and things since I stopped the family one as a girl,” she said. “I wouldn’t say I ‘investigate’, but I do collect as like, a hobby. It’s the main reason I let my wife drag me to her antique auctions. Marina loves them, but otherwise I could care less. I take it you’re telling me _you’re_ some sort of investigator, though?”

Ford’s face flushed again as he realized he hadn’t even introduced himself. “Oh, well… yes. Yes I am, and I’m also Stanford. Wait… no… my _name_ is Stanford -- But most people call me Ford.”

She raised an eyebrow at his awkwardness, but thankfully said nothing.

“Um… so you don’t have any theories as to why it’s behaving this way?” he asked, peering back at the amulet. It would be nice to get back to talking about that instead.

Mrs. Northwest took a breath, like she was about to respond -- and the room turned upside-down.

 

* * *

 

“...and then it turned out that the only reason he was -- what are you looking at, Stanley?”

Susan’s question pulled him from his own thoughts, because, truthfully, he’d stopped listening to her about 10 minutes ago and started people-watching while wondering if there was a way to escape. That was before he’d gotten distracted by the boy who’d just come through the door.

“Who is _that_ guy?” he breathed, pointing at the boy his own age, with the long hair and really dignified looking… everything… in the entryway.

Susan’s face lit up, excited. “I was reading the guestbook earlier!” she said. “I know who! He’s some kind of… European prince or something.”

“Europia, huh?” Stan said, leaning on the table. “That’s a pretty impressive gig.”

“I mean that and he’s totally _dreamy_ …” Susan said, then put her hands to her mouth, giggling. “Oh but you probably don’t care about that.”

“Aha,” Stanley laughed nervously, eyes darting back nervously to the guy in question. “Dreamy” was not an understatement -- and something he cared about far more than Susan seemed to think. But he wasn’t about to blurt that out to anybody. “I mean,” he decided on, “He looks nice enough. You know a cu--cool. A cool dude.”

Susan’s eyes widened in a total “I’ve got an idea” face. “You and I should go talk to him,” she said. “You could maybe, you know… _help me out_.”

“Oh... um…” Stan stammered, looking back at the prince, then at Susan’s eager face. “That’d… yeah, that’d be great.”

 _Yeah just go agree to be someone else’s wingman here_ , he berated himself, trying not to frown outwardly. _Geez, I hope Ford is having a better time than this…_

* * *

 

The sound of shattering glass was everywhere, and Ford curled up into himself in an attempt to avoid any of it hitting him, his shoulder aching something awful when the fetal position failed to keep him from smashing into the ground. The minute it settled though, he unrolled almost immediately and shot upwards.

“Mrs. Northwest!” he yelled. “Are you alright?”

“Ugh,” came a voice from nearby. “I think so, but this dress totally isn’t.”

Sure enough, there was a decent-sized rip in the side, and though she’d already stood up and gotten her bearings, she was frowning down at the damage.

“Do you think it was the amulet?” Ford said, ignoring her fashion crisis and scrambling over to the display cabinet where it lay. The glow around the artifact seemed to have intensified.

“I don’t know what else it _could_ have been,” she said. “But I also don’t know how it did _that_. Shouldn’t we have seen some kind of ghost or something?”

“It may just be a cursed object,” Ford said, starting to scribble in his notebook once more. “Which would imply some kind of spirit inside it, but the malevolent presence needn’t be visible. Of course--”

He was cut off as Mrs. Northwest grabbed his shoulder, yanking him to the side quickly and underneath a desk. About to cry out in surprise and ask her what the action had been for, Ford looked up from his writing long enough to see that one of the vases on display at the other end of the room had just flung itself in the empty space that not 10 seconds earlier had held his head.

“So you’re the ‘smart but oblivious’ type, huh?” she said dryly.

“That’s, um, definitely what my brother says,” he said, a little shakily as he realized how close he’d come to being seriously hurt -- if not worse.

“Alright, well one of those things is useful right now -- what’s this about a curse? I’ve broken one before, I’ll do it again.”

Ford shook his head. “It’s not that simple,” he said. “Curses usually… well, they’re placed by someone. Either that or they’re activated, but the point is they’re intentional. Which means the person responsible for them has to call them off. You said you bought it on auction, so it’s not like you’re dealing with a family heirloom with a history that would affect you. This seems completely random, unless you can think of someone who would have had access to your study _and_ have motivation to try to activate an ancient curse on the night of your big gala.”

“...I have an idea,” she replied, suddenly glaring in what looked like exasperation. “Come on, we’re going to nip this in the bud before it gets any worse.”

Grabbing Ford’s hand, she pulled them both out from under the table. Unfortunately, right as they emerged, the mist that looked like storm clouds starting to gather on the ceiling crackled with energy. A strong, chilling wind whipped up around them, and Ford realized he was unconsciously squeezing her grip back a lot tighter than he’d intended.

“Where do you think we need to go?” he shouted, the only volume that could be heard above the gusts filling the room.

“The hall!” she yelled back, pointing towards the door. Immediately after she did so, there was loud thunderclap, and Ford jumped completely into her in an effort to dodge a crackle of ghostly lightning that came out of the ceiling.

“For that matter,” she added sarcastically, “an equally good answer is ‘out of here’.”

They took off running, dodging another bolt of electricity as they skidded towards the door together, Mrs. Northwest talking the whole time as they did.

“I should have known he was up to something,” she said, sounding frustrated, “after everything he said this morning.... seeing him sneaking out of the study… I don’t know how he figured out how to make it work, but…”

“...Um...is it alright if I ask who?” Ford asked her.

“My son, Preston,” she said through gritted teeth. “He likes to maintain that by opening our house to the public for this party every year, I’ve ‘ruined the family name’. Never mind that he doesn’t even know what things were like _before_ I did -- that’s how I broke our family curse when I was about your age -- he’s decided the stories were enough. Wants things back the ‘way they used to be’ or something.”

“Y-you think he was the one that activated the cursed amulet? To try to wreck the gala?”

“Something like that,” she said. “Oh, that kid is so…” Mrs. Northwest trailed off, sighing. “Let’s just say someone’s in big trouble.”

Ford skidded to a nervous halt in the hallway, causing her to look back at him in confusion and stop herself.

“It’s... Ford, right?” she said. “What are you doing? I need to find Preston, but I don’t want to leave you alone here, especially not after the whole vase thing. I think you need someone watching out for you.”

“What’s going to happen when you find him?” he said nervously.

“Well, I’m going to tell him to break the curse, for one thing,” she said. “And hopefully also _apologize_ but I don’t know if he’ll offer that…”

“You mean you’re not mad at him?” Ford said.

“Of course I’m _mad,_ but it’s about all I can do,” she said. “It’s not like he’s…” she trailed off, examining his face. There was a look of sudden realization on her face.

“Ford...” she said slowly, walking back towards him, “...do your parents act differently when they get mad at you?”

Ford had just been thinking not only that his dad very much did, but that the idea of a kid trying something like activating an ancient curse on their parents was so foreign to him it was slightly terrifying -- a lot more terrifying than anything that had happened with the amulet back in the study. Was Preston not scared of his mom? ( _Either_ of his moms?) Was he actually going to get away from doing something like this without more than a slight reprimand?

“Um…” he said. “Well, just my dad, on occasion, but--” he put a hand to his mouth, cutting off as soon as the words had escaped. Why had he said that? He and Stanley _never_ talked about that, much less to a mostly-complete stranger like Mrs. Northwest. “I mean it’s not…” he said quickly. “There’s just a little… he doesn’t…”

But all she did was get a knowing look on her face and take his hand again, starting once more to walk slowly in the direction of the hall.

“You know,” she said carefully as they walked, “I only recognize the look because I grew up kinda the same. So I promise, you can trust me with it.”

Ford nodded, but still didn’t really want to talk.

“...Or, if you don’t feel like saying anything I guess that’s okay too,” Mrs. Northwest said slowly, after a good length of silence. “That’s not like, too hard to understand.”

“I’d really... rather not,” he agreed quietly, and she looked about to say something in response when a sudden chill raced down the hall. They exchanged glances at the gust of wind, then looked backwards in sync to see ice creeping up the hall behind them.

In similar unison, they both said the exact same thing.

“Run!”

 

* * *

 

 _Stanley Pines, you have had an incredible amount of bad ideas,_ Stan thought to himself as Susan attempted to chat with the boy they’d noticed together, _but this one probably wins a very special bad idea award. For being extra, extra bad._

It wasn’t necessarily that he’d messed up _yet_. On the contrary, Mr. Royal Guy seemed about as impressed with Susan’s really obvious attempts at flirting as Stanley had been… well, all summer… and as a result kept sending him amused conspiratorial glances. Which, you know, were actually kinda cute. But all he could think about was that _her_ bad flirting wasn’t necessarily paving the way for any of _his_ \-- in theory, much better -- flirting.

That is, until she wandered away for a second to get something to drink.

Then, he decided that it was an even _worse_ idea.

Stan had, on more than a few occasions back home, teased his brother about his apparent inability to try to have a romantic exchange with _anyone_. And then, of course, turned around and offered him his soon-to-be-patented Stanley Pines flirting advice.

What he always neglected to mention was that he wasn’t sure how confident in it he was himself.

Regardless of his nervousness though there was only one way to get it to work -- go through with it.

“So…” he said slowly, and picking up his plate. “How about these tiny shrimps?”

“...Pardon?”

“They’re great, right?” Stan said, laughing. “Perfect size for, well…” he set his plate down, taking a shrimp in each hand, and bringing them up to his face to form a fake mustache. “This!”

At this point, the other boy was staring at him dumbstruck. Okay, so maybe it was time to pull out another stop?

“Aha!” he said, slipping into what was at least intended to be a posh British accent, “What what, top party, eh? I say! Everything here is… absolutely… spiffing…” he trailed off as he noticed he wasn’t even getting a reaction.

He set down the shrimp. So much for almost-patented. Or had that just been the kind of thing Ford kept telling him was “tactless”?

“I’m gonna… also get something to drink…” he said slowly, already starting to shuffle off in the other direction. He wasn’t sure he’d be back.

His heart sunk to the pit of his stomach, and there was a cold feeling sort of all over. Well, mostly in his stomach, too. And also his foot. Specifically his right foot. That was weird…

Stan looked down to see ice, for some reason, creeping across the floor. And where some of it had touched him, his foot.

Actually now ankle.

Or maybe even… leg.

 

* * *

 

“We’re almost to the hall!” Mrs. Northwest said “And Preston had better be in there or…”

Both she and Ford skidded to a halt right at the entrance, staring incredulously at the sheet of ice there before them.

“How did it beat us here?” he said, whirling around to see the ice approaching behind them. But it was still a good 30 or 40 feet down the hallway. Which meant…

“The effects must not be exclusively restricted to the amulet!” Ford said. “If the spirit inside it is loose in the hall…”

They both gasped, suddenly noting the extent of the chaos in the room. Not only was the floor frozen over, but every piece of furniture, decor, and guest it had touched was transformed into a solid ice statue.

“Stanley!” Ford yelled, panicked, at the same time Mrs. Northwest shouted. “Marina!”

“Th-they should be okay if we get Preston to reverse this,” Ford stammered nervously. “Assuming we can find him…”

“I have a sneaking suspicion he might be around,” she said with a frown, and sure enough a voice rang out from the other side of the hall, almost in the doorway.

“There you are, Mother,” he said, sounding frustrated. “And…oh. _Stanford_. Mother what are you doing with _him_?”

“Preston Edgar Northwest!” she shouted. “You are going to break this curse, and you are going to do it this instant!”

She shook the amulet, which she’d snatched back in the study, in her hand forcefully.

“Careful with that!” Preston said back.

“It’s a little late!” she said. “Now please have some common sense. If you had something you wanted to talk about--”

“Um, Mrs. Northwest?” Ford said, nervously tugging on her dress to grab her attention. He’d been watching the other side of the hall, that they’d just run through, with trepidation. “Not to rush you but the ice is still very much encroaching on us.”

Her eyes widened as she took in the sight.

“Preston!” she yelled. “I’ll talk with you about this when you lift the curse!”

“Then apologize, Mother!” he said. “I just want to hear you say you’re _wrong_!”

She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Wrong for inviting people into our _house_?”

“And wrong for calling _me_ wrong!” he yelled back.

“Is that really what this is about?” she sighed. “You can’t take the idea that I told you you were _wrong_?”

“Apologize!”

“Isn’t this a little dramatic?”

“You know, the ice is getting really close now…”

“I just want to hear you--”

Mrs. Northwest held the amulet up high and smashed it with all her might into the floor, grinding the shattered pieces with her heels. The minute it broke, Ford was relieved to see the ice stop its advance, and as she ground it into the floor it began to vanish in a retreat.

“That’s one way to break a curse,” he said.

“I _thought_ it might be one of the kinds where you could destroy the spirit by shattering its vessel,” she said.

“So you _do_ research this kind of thing!” Ford said, grinning.

“Just enough to make sure I don’t buy anything that brings irreversible doom,” she said casually, then sounded almost insulted when she noted Ford seemed surprised. “What, you think I’d bring some kind of horrible doomsday thing into my _house_?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t judge you for it,” he said.

She gave him a funny look, but spoke again sounding friendly enough. “Well thanks, I guess. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a discussion with someone. And explain a few things to our guests.”

Preston, at the other end of the hall, looked more “horribly ill from embarrassment” than anything as his mother marched towards him. While Ford didn’t envy the chewing out he was probably about to get, it was reassuring to know that it wouldn’t be excessive -- if anything, Ford felt a little like he deserved slightly worse after what he’d done to bring this on himself. He was still seething at the thought that something bad had very nearly happened to--

“--Stanley!” he shouted, looking around frantically. It looked like at this point nearly everyone was unfrozen, but he wasn’t going to be reassured until he saw his brother’s face in the crowd. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long to find him.

“Ugh,” Stanley said as he dashed over to him, “Ford, I feel terrible.”

“Is it a side-effect of the cryogenic process?” he said nervously, craning his neck to get a good look at his brother. Maybe there was some kind of damage... “Are you--”

“--no, no, none of that nerd stuff. I don’t actually feel terrible. Just kinda… dumb and stuff inside.”

“Why?”

Before his brother could answer, a boy in what appeared to be formal Austrian royal costume came over to them both, smiling widely.

“Ah, Stanley!” he said in a heavily accented voice, “There you are! I lost you in the confusion, earlier. I apologize for being a bit stunned during our conversation, I am still adjusting to things here, but I meant to ask, would you provide me with your phone number?”

Stanley’s eyes went wide, and before Ford could even ask what was going on started to stammer. “Well… um. You see, actually…”

He turned to give Ford the look that usually accompanied a “cover for me, bro”.

“HOW'D THAT RACOON GET IN HERE!” Stanley yelled abruptly, pointing behind them and causing the other boy to turn around for a moment. Taking his chance, he dashed.

Ford was left to nervously stare at the remaining member of the conversation, who he could only assume had been the latest subject of the Stanley Pines dating technique.

“Is he--?”

“It was a really big raccoon,” Ford said. “I think the forest here leads to the colonies exhibiting some kind of insular gigantism, or maybe…”

“...Thank you,” the other boy said, giving him an “already bored” look. Which annoyed Ford, because he’d thought if anything the _clearly_ erroneous theory would have been the thing that killed his distraction, not his own poor social skills.

“I suppose I had best… go search for Stanley.”

Ford wondered how his brother’s evasion skills were going to aid him for the rest of the night. He’d usually give him about 80/20 odds in favor, but they _were_ in a room with a dessert table.

He didn’t have too long to ponder it, however, because Mrs. Northwest appeared by his side almost as soon as Stanley’s apparent romantic prospect left.

“Preston’s going to continue to be difficult,” she sighed. “He still doesn’t seem to think he did anything _wrong_. But he also slunk off to his room, so no more problems for the evening. So I wanted to thank you for your help tonight.”

“It was interesting!” Ford said, the thought barely even occurring to him that it might have been a touch insensitive.

“One word for it,” she said dryly. “But if that’s your definition, I aim for less interesting parties. And I still need to go find Marina, so I’m sorry about the thank you and run, but I hope you still enjoy yourself tonight.”

He nodded back. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and Ford,” she said, turning back once more. “I have something for you. Can I see your notebook?”

He was confused, and reluctant to offer it up, but relinquished the little flip-pad all the same, pulling out his pencil too since it seemed like she was about to write something down.

Mrs. Northwest scribbled something down quickly, then handed it back. Ford looked down to see a string of numbers gracing the otherwise-blank page on top.

“Is this… a code?” he asked, puzzled.

“It’s my phone number, okay?” she said. “Only for, like, an emergency but… look, the governor is over here for dinner once a month, at least. I know you didn’t say much, but you know, if your dad ever gets to the point that someone needs to… look into things, I can pull the strings to make that happen.”

Slightly shell-shocked by the gesture, Ford took a few moments to respond. In the end, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

“...But I live in New Jersey!”

Mrs.’ Northwest’s mouth drew into a surprised little “o”, as if only just considering that there were places her influence would be of less help. But her recovery was quick. “Well, I’m sure I know _somebody_ out there too. But still, if you ever need it or whatever, I just want you to have it.” She got a wry smile on her face. “...I think you need someone watching out for you.”

Still a bit surprised at the whole situation, Ford just nodded softly as he pulled out his phone to enter the number. His eyes widened yet again as he saw the screen.

“ _9_ missed calls from Fidds?” he said, shocked. “What is he _doing_?” He stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “Hopefully they’re about something that can wait, I am _not_ answering those right now. I still need to process tonight.”

“Well have a nice evening… doing that,” she said, waving as she slipped back into the crowd.

Ford frowned at his pocket, wondering if maybe ignoring the phone wasn’t the best idea. But before he could think it over, there was a hiss from under the tablecloth next to him.

“Hey Sixer, what are the chances we could find a raccoon in… say… about 15 minutes? Max?”

It could _definitely_ wait.


End file.
